


More Than One Way To Win A War

by Leyenn



Category: She-Ra: Princess Of Power
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:39:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leyenn/pseuds/Leyenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things change while you're not looking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than One Way To Win A War

**Author's Note:**

> Eventually, this will be part of a much longer story. Until then, this stands as it will.

"You're not seriously going through with this, are you?"

"An alliance between Eternia and Bright Moon will bring a lot of benefits to the kingdom," the Queen says calmly, looking at him square and even from her throne. "This is help we sorely need, as you know, Bow."

"But marrying off your _daughter?!_"

"Glimmer has agreed to the match," Angella says, and this time there's a smile on her lips and a quirk of laughter in her eyes that he doesn't quite understand. "She'll be happy, and King Randor will sign the treaty to provide us with troops we need to fight the Horde. With this marriage we might even have the chance to rid our world of them forever."

There's nothing he can say to that, at least nothing that will be of use to her or himself. He bows at the waist as a request for dismissal: Angella smiles again and inclines her head, permission to depart, and he gratefully takes it.

Kowl's waiting for him at the entrance to the throne room, hovering in front of a newly restored tapestry depicting the last great Royal Alliance. He's studying it carefully, one claw tracing an arc in the air above the lushly embroidered Castle Bright Moon, and humming something to himself under his breath.

Bow heads down the corridor without stopping, until his footsteps are loud enough that Kowl turns away from his study at last.

"I can't believe you're taking this so calmly," he says when he feels the brush of air on his neck. Without even looking round he can see wings flapping at the corner of his eye as Kowl catches up to him, a comfortingly normal occurrence in a kingdom gone so obviously mad.

Kowl chuckles. "How else one is supposed to take this kind of news, I'm sure I don't know." He backwings a little and settles on Bow's shoulder. "You did give the Queen our report, I suppose."

"Of course I did." He gave his - their - report, and in return Angella politely confirmed the rumors he's been hearing since they rode into the city yesterday. Glimmer and Adora are out at camp, and as usual when he needs to speak with her, Madame's nowhere to be found - and although Adam is apparently here, there's been no sign of him in the guest rooms, so unbelievably it has actually taken until now to find out for sure.

They've only been out scouting in Mystacor six weeks. Six weeks ago everything in Bright Moon was sane, very normal. How could all this have happened in six weeks?

Arrow whickers happily at him when he wanders down the stables, Kowl still on his shoulder. Now that their report is delivered there's no reason to stay at the Castle for the moment, and he's eager get home to the Woods. Not to mention, to see Glimmer and find out what the _hell_ is going on.

They walk the usual route to the Woods, with only a turn or two in their path to be certain of avoiding Horde patrols - there are less of them now, but it's still more than his life's worth to get caught by one and have She-Ra have to come get him loose. (Again.)

He makes the usual sign to the Twiggets on duty at the edge of the Rebellion's second camp - he can't see them, but they're there, and he's not in the mood for a Twigget arrow poked into his gut. Kowl hoots a greeting to the woodcutters' hut as they pass, and cheery waves follow them along the tramped-down path. Assured of safe territory now, Bow nudges Arrow into a light trot.

They reach the center fire and its rows of tents just as the sun dips below the horizon. Most of the front flaps are pinned up, and he can smell the delightful scent of the cook tent - maybe even roast pheasant, from the scent of it. Kowl clucks uneasily and flutters up from his shoulder. He laughs.

"Now, Kowl. You know no one would ever put you on a spit roast."

"Hmph." Kowl does a slow airborne circle. "I don't see Adora anywhere."

"I thought she'd be here to meet us," he says, feeling slightly irritated. They've been gone six weeks, and none of their friends seem to have noticed they're even back in the kingdom. It's hardly polite or what he's come to expect from Adora. Or Glimmer, even if she does have other things on her mind at the moment.

Arrow is comfortably stabled and he's gotten reacquainted with his tent - a little musty, after six weeks, but he thinks Madame may have cleaned once or twice because a few things have tiny wings that shouldn't have - stowed his pack, separated his laundry and delivered his leftover supplies back to the quartermaster before he gives in and asks the duty cook.

"I ha'n't seen either o' 'em since noon," Nort says, and shakes his head as he rips a pheasant leg for Bow's plate.

Bow sighs. At the sight of tonight's meal even Kowl has deserted him, and although he finds himself trading tales of Mystacor in the company of eager young rebels for most of his dinner hour, there's still no sign of the faces he wants most to see.

When the cook fire is dying down and the tents are emptying for the evening's entertainment, it's Gracious who finally takes pity on him and taps his shoulder as she passes. "There's been a lot o' quiet coming from the Princess' tent these past weeks or more," she says, with a mote of a smile in her eye. "Seems to me anyone wanting to know how things truly lie could do worse than t' do the obvious thing and enquire."

He smiles at her. Perhaps he is being slightly ridiculous. They'll be glad to see him returned, and she's right, all he really need do is ask.

Glimmer's private tent is unmarked as anything other than ordinary, only the seal of ownership on the side canvas in her distinctive styled hand to prove that here lives a Princess. He was the one who insisted on that at the beginning, when the other Rebels were all ready to crown her in glory for joining them, and he was far more worried about assassins finding her in at the dead of night. Now, she keeps it that way because she seems to like it that way; anonymity is one of the few things not provided back at Bright Moon, and Glimmer craves it sometimes like no one else he's ever known.

She's not going to have it that way for much longer, he thinks, laying a hand on the tent flap.

_"Adora..."_ Glimmer's voice is just beyond the canvas, soft and lazy. _"We should eat. They must have almost finished serving by now."_

_"We can get something later,"_ he hears Adora say. _"Gracious always keeps something behind. She knows you don't eat well."_

_"You're to blame for that,"_ Glimmer says, and his hand stays on the tent but doesn't move one way or the other because of that tone in her voice, a tone he doesn't quite believe.

_"I am not,"_ and Adora laughs, and then he hears a sound that sounds like...

There's a thin gap between the tent flap and the frame, and when he puts his eye to it, it turns the whole world slightly upside-down.

Adora is seated on Glimmer's bed, her boots tossed on the ground, her head bent, her ankles crossed. Glimmer's head is on her thighs, in her lap, an ocean of bright hair hiding her skirt and skin from view. Adora's fingers are on Glimmer's arched neck, leaving imaginary fingerprints there; Glimmer's hand is on Adora's foot in return, idly caressing uncovered skin.

Adora smiles, leaning forward. Glimmer lifts her head awkwardly, and they kiss. It looks sweet and tender and above all, not new, fingers touching easily in places and ways that don't happen between simple friends, betrothed or no.

_'Glimmer has agreed to the match,'_ he hears Angella say, and he jerks back from the tent flap with a sudden shame at finding out this way. The canvas flutters at his movement, casting a sliver of lamplight out onto the grass, and it's too late to move away by the time he hears her voice call out.

"Bow? Is that you?"

  


*

  



End file.
